Who Is Hilderman?

: The Mystery Of The Green Ray

I must admit that I was so delighted to find that Myra had recovered

her sight that I very nearly made what might have been a very serious

mistake. I gave a loud shout of triumph and made a dive for the light,

intending to switch it on. This might, of course, have had a very bad

effect upon my darling's eyes, but fortunately Garnesk darted across

the room and knocked up my arm in the nick of time.



"Not ye , Ewart, not yet," he warned me. "We must run no risks until

we are quite sure."



"But, Ronnie, I can see quite well," Myra declared delightedly. "I see

everything just as easily as I usually can by the light of the

dark-room lamp."



"Still, we won't expose you to the glare of white light just at

present, Miss McLeod," said Garnesk solemnly. "We must be very

careful. Tell me, how did your sight return, gradually or suddenly?"



"Suddenly, I think," the girl replied. "I took off the shade and laid

it down, and then when I looked up I could distinctly see the lamp."



"Immediately the shade was removed?"



"No," she answered, "not just immediately. You see, I was looking at

the floor, which is so dark, of course, that you couldn't see it in

the ordinary way. Then as soon as I looked up I could see the lamp.

For a moment I thought it was my imagination, but when I found I could

see Ron stooping over the developing-dish I knew that I was all right

again."



"This is very extraordinary, you know," said Garnesk. "Can you count

the bottles on the middle shelf?"



"Oh, yes!" laughed Myra, "I can make them out distinctly. Of course, I

know pretty well what they are, but in any case I could easily

describe them to you if I'd never seen them before."



"What have I got in my hand?" the specialist queried, holding his arm

out.



"A pair of nail-clippers," Myra declared emphatically, and Garnesk

laughed.



"Well," he said, "you can obviously see it pretty well; but, as a

matter of fact, it's a cigar-cutter."



"Oh! well, you see," the girl explained airily, "I always put

necessity before luxury!"



So then the oculist made her sit down again and questioned and

cross-questioned her at considerable length.



"I'm puzzled, but delighted," he admitted finally. "It's strange, but

it is at the same time decidedly hopeful."



"I suppose it means that she will always be able to see in a red light

at any rate?" I suggested.



"Probably it does," he agreed, "and, of course, her sight may be

completely restored. There is also a middle course; she may be able to

see perfectly after a course of treatment in red light. I will get her

a pair of red glasses made at once. We can see how that goes. But I

feel that it would be advisable to introduce her to daylight in

gradual stages, in case of any risk."



"Oh, if we could only find poor old Sholto!" Myra exclaimed eagerly.

Garnesk turned to her with a look of frank admiration.



"You're a lucky young dog, Ewart," he whispered to me, "by Jove you

are!"



So Myra graciously, but a little regretfully I think, placed herself

in the hands of the young specialist and replaced her shade. Then we

left the dark-room, allowing the films to develop out on the floor,

and went downstairs. We took her out on to the verandah and removed

the shade for a moment, but the chill air of the highland night made

her eyes smart after their unaccustomed imprisonment, and we gave up

the experiment for that night.



As Garnesk and I bathed together in the morning we were both brighter

and more cheerful than we had been since his arrival.



"I shall catch the train from Mallaig," he declared. "Can you take me

in and meet your friend without having long to wait?"



"If you insist on going," I replied, "I can get you there in time to

meet him and you will have an hour or more to wait for your train."



"Oh, so much the better! We can tell him everything and give him all

the news in the interval."



"Are you still determined to go?" I asked.



"Yes," he said, "I must go. It will be necessary for me to make one

or two inquiries and get a pair of glasses made for Miss McLeod."



"I shall be very sorry to lose you, Garnesk," I said earnestly. "Don't

you think you could write or wire for the glasses? You see, if we have

come to the conclusion that this green ray is some chemical production

of Nature unassisted there isn't the same reason for you to leave us."



"No, that's true," he agreed, "but we were both a bit scared

yesterday, old chap, and the more I think of this dog business the

less I like it. It was mere conceit on my part that made me say it was

bound to be some natural phenomenon merely because I couldn't

understand how the effect could have been humanly produced."



"Perhaps," I suggested, "our best course would be to keep an open mind

about the whole thing."



"Yes," he replied, "I'm with you entirely. And in that case my going

away is not going to aggravate the effects of a natural phenomenon,

while it may restrain the human agency by removing the necessity for

further activity."



"Well, that's sound enough," I acquiesced; "but I shall hear from you,

I hope?"



"Of course, my dear fellow," he laughed, "we're in this thing

together. You'll hear from me as often as you want, and who knows what

else besides. I have no intention of dropping this for a minute,

Ewart. But I think I can do more if I am not on the spot. We're agreed

that my presence here may be a source of danger to you all."



"Yes," I said, "I think yours is the best plan. What do you propose to

do?"



"Well, to begin with, I shall devote an hour or two to knocking our

panic theory on the head."



"You mean the natural phenomenon idea?"



"Precisely," said he. "I don't think that it will be able to exist

very long in the light of physical knowledge--not that that is a very

powerful light, but it should be strong enough for our purpose. As

soon as I have convinced myself that our enemy is a mere human being I

shall take such steps as I may think necessary at the time. Then, of

course, I shall acquaint you with the steps that I have taken, and we

shall work together and round up our man, and, figuratively speaking,

make him swallow his hideous green ray."



"What sort of steps do you mean?" I asked.



"Well, that all depends," my friend answered, "on what sort of man we

have to deal with. But it will certainly include providing ourselves

with the necessary means of self-defence, and may run to calling in

the assistance of the authorities."



"I'm not sure that the presence of the police in a quiet spot like

this might not have a disastrous effect on our plans," I pointed out.



"I shouldn't worry about the police," he laughed. "I should make for

the naval chaps. I'm rather pally with them just now; I'm booked up to

do some work of various descriptions for the period of the war, and I

think if I can give them the promise of a little fun and excitement

they would be willing to help."



"Which indeed they could," I agreed readily. "Any attempt our enemy

might make to get away from us would probably mean a bolt for the open

sea, and a few dozen dreadnoughts would be cheerful companionship."



Garnesk laughed, and we strolled up to the house, putting the

finishing touches to our toilet as we went. Shortly after breakfast we

made ready for our trip to Mallaig. Myra was very anxious to come with

us until I explained that we should have to wait there till we had met

Dennis and seen the specialist off. She was naturally sensitive about

appearing in public with the shade on, poor child, so she readily gave

up the idea.



"I'm very sorry you're going, Mr. Garnesk," said Myra, as she shook

hands.



"I shall see you again soon," he replied. "I have by no means finished

with your case, and as soon as you report the effect of the glasses I

shall send you'll see me come tripping in one afternoon, or else I

shall ask you to come down to me."



"It's very good of you to take so much trouble about it," said Myra

gratefully.



"Not at all," he responded lightly. "It is a pleasure, Miss McLeod, I

assure you."



The old general was still more effusive of his gratitude, and as he

waved good-bye from the landing-stage his face was almost comically

eloquent of regret.



"By the way," said Garnesk as we passed Glasnabinnie, "don't tell

Hilderman much about what has happened. We feel we can trust him, but

you never know a man's propensity for talking until you know him very

well."



"Right," I agreed. "I'll take care of that. We can't afford to get

this talked about. It would be very painful for Myra and her father if

it became the chatter of the country-side."



"Besides," Garnesk pointed out, "it will be much safer to be quiet

about it. If we are dealing with men they will probably prove to be

desperate men, and we don't want to run any risks that we can avoid."



"No," said I, "this is going to be quite unpleasant enough without

looking for trouble."



So when we arrived in Mallaig and met Hilderman on the fish-table I

was careful to remember my companion's advice.



"Ah, Mr. Ewart!" the American exclaimed in surprise, "How are you? And

you, Professor? I hope your visit has proved entirely satisfactory.

How is Miss McLeod?"



"Just the same, I am sorry to say," Garnesk replied glibly. "There

is no sign at all of her sight returning. I can make nothing of it

whatever."



"Dear, dear, Professor!" Hilderman exclaimed, with a shake of the

head. "That is very bad, very bad indeed. Haven't you even any idea

as to how the poor young lady lost her sight?"



"None whatever," said Garnesk, with a hopeless little shrug. "I can't

imagine anything, and I'm not above admitting that I know nothing.

There is no use my pretending I can do anything for poor Miss McLeod

when I feel convinced that I can't."



"So you've given it up altogether, Mr. Garnesk?" Hilderman asked, as

we strolled to the station.



"What else can I do?" the oculist replied. "I can't stop up here for

ever, much as I should prefer to stay until I had done something for

my patient."



"You have my sympathy, Mr. Ewart," said Hilderman in a friendly voice.

"It is a terrible blow for you all. I fervently hope that something

may yet be done for the poor young lady."



"I hope so too," I answered, with a heavy sigh, but the sigh was

merely a convincing response to the lead Garnesk had given me, for, as

a matter of fact, I was quite certain that we had found the basis of

complete cure.



"Yes," Hilderman muttered, as if thinking aloud, "it is a very

terrible and strange affair altogether. Have you had any news about

the dog?"



"None whatever," I replied, this time with perfect truth.



"Surely you must suspect somebody, though," the American urged. "It is

a very sparsely populated neighbourhood, you know."



"We can't actually suspect anybody, nevertheless," said I. "On the one

hand, it may have been an ordinary, uninteresting thief who stole the

dog with a view to selling him again. On the other hand----"



"Well," said Hilderman with interest, as I paused, "on the other

hand?"



"It may have been someone who had other reasons for stealing him," I

concluded.



"I don't quite follow you."



"Ewart means," said Garnesk, cutting in eagerly, evidently fearing

that I was about to make some indiscreet disclosure of our suspicions,

though I had not the slightest intention of doing so, "Ewart means

that it may have been someone who regarded the dog as a personal

enemy. Miss McLeod informs us that there was a man in the hills,

ostensibly a crofter, who disliked Sholto, quite unreasonably. He

drove the dog away from his croft and was very rude to Miss McLeod

about it. She suspected an illicit still, and thought the fellow was

afraid Sholto might nose out his secret and give the show away."



"Ah!" said Hilderman. "An illicit still, eh! Where was this still, or,

rather, where was the croft?"



I remembered that Myra had told us it was somewhere up Suardalan way,

above Tor Beag, and I was just about to explain, when I felt my

friend's boot knock sharply against my ankle. Taking this as a hint

and not an accident, I promptly lied.



"It was miles away," I announced readily, "away up on The Saddle. Miss

McLeod wanders pretty far afield with Sholto at times."



"Indeed," said the American, "I should think that might be quite a

likely explanation, and rather a suitable place for a still, too. I

climbed The Saddle some months ago with an enthusiastic friend of

mine. We went by water to Invershiel, and then drove up the Glen. I

shouldn't like to walk from Invermalluch and back; there are several

mountains in between, and surely there is no road."



Evidently our shrewd companion suspected that I had either made a

mistake or deliberately told him an untruth, but I was quite ready for

him. I had no time to consider the ethics of the matter. I was out to

obey what I took to be my instructions, and obey them I did.



"Oh, there are quite a lot of ways of getting there," I replied

airily; "but perhaps the easiest would be to take the motor-boat to

Corran and walk up the Arnisdale, or follow the road to Corran and

then up the river. Miss McLeod has her own ways of getting about this

country, though, and she may even know some way of avoiding the

difficulties of the Sgriol and the other intervening mountains."



Hilderman looked at me in considerable surprise for a moment.



"You seem to know the district pretty well yourself, Mr. Ewart," he

remarked.



"Well, I ought to," I explained; "I was born in Glenmore."



"Oh, I didn't know that," he murmured; "that accounts for it, then."

And at that moment we heard the train approaching, and we hurried into

the station to meet our respective visitors.



"Fact or fancy?" asked Garnesk in an undertone as we strolled down the

platform, Hilderman having hurried on ahead.



"Fancy," I replied. "I took it you wanted me to avoid giving him the

precise details."



"Yes, I did," he laughed. "But you certainly made them precise enough.

It is better to be careful how you explain these things to strangers."



"Why?" I asked. "If we suspected Hilderman I should be inclined to

agree with you that we should feed him up with lies; and if you think

it will help us at all to suspect him I'm on at once. But as we both

feel that his disposition is friendly and that we have no cause to

doubt him, what is your reason for putting him off the scent every

time? I know you well enough by this time to feel sure that you

haven't been making these cryptic remarks for the sake of hearing

yourself speak."



"Here's the train," he said. "I'll tell you later."



I looked along the carriages for Dennis, but I had evidently missed

him, for as I turned back along the platform I found him looking round

for me, standing amid the melee of tourists and fisherfolk, keepers

and valets, sportsmen and dogs, which is typical of the West Highland

terminus in early August, and which seemed little affected by the fact

that a state of war existed between Great Britain and the only nation

in the world which was prepared for hostilities.



"Well, old man," I greeted him as we shook hands heartily. "You got my

wire, of course. I hope you had a decent journey."



"Rather, old chap, I should think I did!" he replied warmly. "Slept

like a turnip through the beastly parts, and woke up for the bit from

Dumbarton on. I also had the luck to remember what you said about the

breakfast and took the precaution of wiring for it. Here I am, and as

fit as a fiddle."



"That's great!" I exclaimed cheerily, for Dennis's bright attitude had

exactly the effect on me that it was intended to have--it made me feel

about twenty years younger. "This is Mr. Garnesk, the specialist, who

very kindly came from Glasgow to see Myra. Mr. Garnesk--Mr. Burnham."



The two shook hands, and the oculist suggested lunch. We left the

station to go up to the hotel, but we saw Hilderman and his newly

arrived friend--the same man who had seen me taking Myra up to

London--walking leisurely up the hill in front of us. Garnesk took my

arm.



"Steady, my boy, steady," he said quietly. "We don't want to be

overheard giving the lie to your dainty conversation of a few minutes

ago. Isn't there anywhere else we can lunch, because they are

evidently on the same tack?"



"Yes," I replied, turning back, "there's the Marine just behind you.

That'll do us well. Then we can come out and talk freely where there's

no chance of our being overheard."



So we lunched at the Marine Hotel, after which we strolled round

the harbour, along the most appalling "road" in the history of

civilisation, popularly and well named "the Kyber." Safely out of

earshot, I made a hurried mental precis of the events of the past

few days, and gave Dennis the resultant summary as tersely as I could.



"I'm very glad you had Mr. Garnesk with you," said Dennis at last,

with a glance of frank admiration at the young specialist.



"Not so glad as I am," I replied fervently. "What I should have done

without him heaven only knows. I can't even guess."



"Oh, nonsense!" cried Garnesk, in modest protest. "I haven't been

able to do anything. Our one advance was a piece of pure luck--the

discovery that Miss McLeod could see by the light of a red lamp. We

have decided to keep that quite to ourselves, Mr. Burnham."



"Of course," agreed Dennis, so emphatically that I laughed.



"Why so decided, Den?" I asked, for I felt that I should like to climb

to the topmost pinnacle of the highest peak in all the world and shout

the good news to the four corners of the earth.



"I'm not a scientist, Ron," Dennis replied. "That may account for the

heresy of my profound disbelief in science. I wouldn't cross the road

to see a 'miracle.' The twentieth century is uncongenial to anything

of that sort. Take it from me, old chap, there's a man at the back of

this--not a nice man, I admit, but an ordinary human being to all

outward appearances--and when we catch a glimpse of his outward

appearances we shall know what to do."



"Yes, when we do," I sighed.



"You mustn't let Ewart get depressed about things, Mr. Burnham. He

very naturally looks at this business from a different standpoint.

With him it is a tragic, mysterious horror, which threatens the

well-being, if not the existence, of a life that is dearer to him than

his own."



"I'll look after him," said Dennis, with a grim determination which

made even Garnesk laugh.



"When you two precious people have finished nursing me," I said, "I

hope you'll allow me to point out that that very reason gives me a

prior claim to take any risks or run into any dangers that may crop up

from now on. If there is any trouble brewing, particularly dangerous

trouble, then it is my place to tackle it. I am deeply grateful to you

fellows for all you have done and are doing and intend to do, but the

nursing comes from the other side. I can't let you run risks in a

cause which is more mine in the nature of things than yours."



"I fancy," said Dennis, "that even your eloquent speeches will have

very little effect when it comes to real trouble. If danger comes

it'll come suddenly, and we shall be best helping our common cause by

looking after ourselves."



"Hear, hear," said Garnesk, and I could only mutter my thanks and my

gratitude for the possession of two staunch friends.



"To get back to business," I said presently, "why did you want me to

bluff Hilderman like that?"



"Because," said Garnesk slowly, "I'm not sure that Hilderman is the

man to take into our confidence too completely. It's not that I don't

trust the man, but he looks so alert and so cute, and has such a

dreamy way of pretending he isn't listening to you when you know jolly

well that he is, that I have a feeling we ought to be careful with

him."



"Very much what Dennis said about him the first time he saw him. But

if you don't suspect him, and he is a very cute man, why not trust him

and have the benefit of his intelligence?"



"How would you answer that question yourself, Ewart?" the specialist

asked quietly.



"Oh," I laughed, "I should point out that his cuteness may be the very

reason that we don't suspect him."



"Precisely," Garnesk agreed; "and that is partly my answer as well."



"And the other part?" put in Dennis quietly.



"Well, it's a difficult thing to say, and it's all conjecture. But

I have a feeling that Hilderman is not what he says he is. He has

a knack of doing things, a way of going about here, that gives me

the impression he is employing his intelligence, and a very fine

intelligence it probably is, all the time. I don't think he is retired

at all. There's a restless energy about the fellow that would turn

into a sour discontent if his mind were not fully occupied with work

which it is accustomed to, and probably enjoys doing."



"Have you anything to suggest?" I asked.



"I have an idea," he replied; "but I haven't mentioned it because it

doesn't satisfy me at all. I have an idea that the man is some sort

of detective hard at work all the time. But I can't imagine what sort

of detective would take a house up here and keep himself as busy as

Hilderman appears to be over some case in the neighbourhood. I can't

imagine what sort of case it can be."



"What about a secret German naval base in the Hebrides?" I suggested.

"It's not by any means impossible or even unlikely that the Germans

have utilised the lonely lochs and creeks to some sinister purpose.

Many of the lochs are entirely hidden by surrounding mountains, which

come right down to the edge of a narrow opening, and make the place

almost unnoticeable unless you happen to be looking for it."



"There's something in that, certainly," Garnesk agreed; "but we must

remember he's been here since May. Surely our precious Government

would have managed to find what they wanted, and clear it out by this

time. Then again, did they suspect the base, or did they have a

general idea that war was coming so far back as May?"



"As to the war," Dennis put in, "we don't really know when the

authorities had their first suspicions."



"No," said I; "but I fancy it was not a very definite suspicion until

after the Archduke was assassinated. But look here, Garnesk, just let

us suppose Hilderman really is a Government detective in the guise of

an American visitor. Wouldn't he be just about the man we want, or do

you think it would make too much stir to take him into our

confidence?"



"Far too much," Garnesk replied emphatically. "It's not that he

would talk; but if he has been here all this time his opponents have

got wind of him long before this, and his arrival on the scene in

connection with our case would give any suspicious character the tip

to bolt. I should advise keeping in touch with Hilderman, learn as

much as you can about him, and be ready to run to him for help if you

come to the conclusion that he is the man to give it."



We sat down among the heather at the foot of the Mallaig Vec road, and

looked out over the harbour.



"Don't turn your heads," said Dennis quietly, "but glance down at the

pier."



"Yes," said Garnesk in a moment, "he seems to be as interested in us

as we are in him."



Hilderman and his friend were standing on the end of the pier watching

us through their field-glasses.